


Resolutions

by petrovasfire



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Future Fic, Peter Pan is not Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold's Father
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 19:49:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1400341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petrovasfire/pseuds/petrovasfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The magic in Neverland has worn off, and Peter Pan decides that he doesn't want to grow up alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resolutions

“Peter,” she calls, her breath rasping in her throat.

“You’ve returned!” He greets her with such stilted enthusiasm it makes the hatred in her heart swell. “My sweet, my _darling_ Wendy.”

Wendy says nothing more. She decides that if she has to look at Peter Pan again, she might do and say things she will regret, so she focuses on the water instead. Dipping her feet into the lagoon, she takes in Neverland; the hellish cavern she’d almost not escaped once before. The trees are genuflecting, as if they are just as disheartened as she is. The air is smack of stagnation and the waters are not as roiling as they once were. She wonders then if so much has changed since she left and if so, why.

“You've broken your promise to me.” Peter is watching her from the outfall, feigning a hurt expression. “You've grown up.”

 _Of course I have_ , Wendy replies silently. She doesn’t will her lips to move; at least, not yet. The bitterness she feels towards Peter is still fresh despite having been five years. She moulds ripples in the stretch of water with her toes. Pan continues to watch her, observing just how much she has changed.

Wendy Darling is no longer the child that his Shadow had abducted years ago. Her russet hair sweeps down to her knees like a snarling, fiery garden. Her cheekbones are much keener and her fair skin has mellowed with age. She is wearing a similar thin nightgown, and Peter notices the curve of her breasts and hips. She is a woman now, he realises. His boy tricks won’t do; not with her, not anymore.

“Indeed I have, Peter. And so have you.”

“I _haven’t_ ,” he retorts, blood amassing in his cheeks.

When Wendy finally looks up from the water and takes a proper look at him, she’s surprised by how much he’s  _grown_. His figure makes him look almost twenty years old. His voice much deeper than a boy’s, and she catches fine threads of hair on the each side of his face. He’s taller than she remembers, too. In fact, he looks rather silly in his green foliage of an attire now, because his limbs appear to be toned up.

“How is that possible?”

This time, Peter is the one who’s silent. He starts to feel his ego slipping away; out of his skin and down, down, down into the depths of the water. He is sorry, ashamed and rueful—and he can’t look at Wendy in the eye. Not since he commanded his Shadow to tear her away from Neverland and send her back to London years ago. And for what? Youthfulness and power, both of which he no longer possesses.

Looking at her now, he realises just how much he regrets his actions. She could have meant so much more to him if he’d only just let her in.

“You’ve grown up, Peter!” Wendy exclaims, irked by his silence. “How is that possible?”

“The island has exhausted its magic,” he finally replies, his voice not sounding like his own at all.

“Peter,” Wendy whispers, cradling his name as if it earned so much respect to be spoken in such manner by her, “are you dying?”

“No,” he hesitates before conceding, “not yet, at least.”

Wendy crosses her arms against her chest, and the shape of her ample chest is further defined. Peter has to dart his gaze away and look up into her eyes instead,  which are already filling with underserved compassion.

“How old exactly are you, Wendy?”

“Sixteen.” Narrowing her eyes at him, she asks, “How old are you, Peter?”

“I don’t know,” he says honestly.

* * *

He leads her to the old treehouse. By the time they reach it, it’s dusk. Looking up at the ladder, Wendy is surprised it still stands. When they both step inside, she notices that everything is just as it had been. The translucent draperies still hang by the bed. The quilt looks untouched, but there’s not a speck of dust on any of the furniture. _Magic_ , she thinks.

“Go ahead, make yourself comfortable.” Peter gestures towards the bed. “This was once your home, after all.”

Wendy wants to throw her head back and laugh at the term ‘home’. London is her only home, and it always will be. Neverland is simply a hellhole she had been so unfortunate to discover.

“You mean, apart from my cage?” Wendy snaps, and the cutting acidity in her voice makes Peter flinch. “Yes, this treehouse _had_ served a better option.”

“Wendy—”

“I’m tired. Good night, Peter.”

He doesn't leave, and she doesn't dare tell him to. Instead, she pretends not to see him at all and crawls into the bed, her back facing him. This isn’t the first time she’s been whisked away from home and to Neverland, but her heart sinks nonetheless. Pulling the quilt over her shoulders, Wendy starts to cry. She clamps her mouth so she wouldn't break out into a sob, but her tears become too heavy for her eyes to bear and soon enough, her pillow is soaked.

She doesn't hide it well, though. She hears Peter walking towards the bed and soon she feels the mattress shift. The bed isn’t big enough for one person, let alone the pair of them, so he presses his body against hers and wraps his fingers tentatively around hers, resting both their arms freely on top of the quilt. She doesn't pull away, both out of fear as well as obligation. When he speaks, she feels his stimulating breath warm against the back of her neck.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why did you bring me here, Peter?” There is so much sadness in her voice that he already regrets what he’s about to say.

“I’m afraid, Wendy.”

“Of what?”

“Growing up.”

* * *

When she wakes, the first thing Wendy registers is that she is alone in bed— _and_  in the treehouse. Morning brings with it the cool bracing air, and Wendy almost sits up until she hears the ladder creak.

It’s Peter, and he is carrying a handful of berries.

“Wendy, darling,” he calls softly, and it takes her a while to realise that he’s using her surname as an endearment. “I’ve brought you breakfast. Thought you might want some.”

Wendy lifts her head up fleetingly before sinking into the pillow again. “Not hungry.”

“Please, Wendy,” Peter pleads.

It’s a sight Wendy has never witnessed before and will probably never be accustomed to. The way he had treated her—and anyone else that crossed his path—is a painful memory, but the more he's nice to her, the lesser it hurts thinking about the past. This Peter is gentle and kind. And although she knows it’s not for her, but rather out of loneliness, she’s still amazed at how vulnerable he has become since magic on the island started wearing off. 

“All right,” she says, sitting up in bed. “Let’s see what kind of berries you picked for me.”

* * *

In the span of weeks, Wendy lets Peter take her everywhere. Sometimes, she even lets him hold her hand. They visit the mermaid lagoon where she had been dropped off by the Shadow, but there are no mermaids. They walk round the campsites where oil lamps were still lit, and the tents lay open. No Lost Boys, either. They soar from one cliff to the other. Or to be more precise, Peter soars while carrying Wendy in his arms.

“Can I learn how to fly again?”

“No.” Wendy waits for him to say more, but he doesn’t.

“Where is everyone, Peter?”

There is a long pause before he says curtly, “Gone.”

* * *

“Did you ever forget about me?”

Wendy is taken aback by the question. It comes unexpected and truthfully, she never thought he’d cared. She doesn't reply immediately, because she isn't sure of the answer herself. Or perhaps she is, but she can’t bring herself to admit it.

“I never stopped telling stories about you.” Wendy smiles when he does, and then hesitates before admitting, “I've even dreamed about you, sometimes.”

“That sounds nice.”

“What about you? Did you ever forget about _me_?”

“Me? Forget?” Peter chimes. “Never, Wendy. You know that.”

* * *

The first time Wendy Darling kisses Peter Pan, he believes that he has not fully lived all those years, not until the moment her mouth is pressed against his. He loses himself easily, and his lust for power melts away into a lust for her. He pushes her against the walls of the treehouse and kisses her mouth, her jaws, her neck, her collarbones. It’s overwhelming. To have never experienced touching a woman’s body is truly a sin, he thinks, especially if the woman in question is Wendy.

Without either of them saying a word, he removes her nightgown. His lips skim through all parts her body; pecking softly at her shoulders, her chest, her bare stomach.

“Peter,” Wendy whispers, “ _Peter_.”

“Wendy,” he retaliates, as though they were at war and their names were weapons. “Wendy… Moira… Angela… _Darling_.”

“Peter,” Wendy says again, clearly this time. Her eyes are glassy, and for the first time Peter can't tell what she's thinking. “Why did you want me here?”

“I’ve always wanted you, Wendy.” She almost believes him. _Almost_. He scoops her naked body up and lays her gently on the bed. “Always.”

* * *

“We can leave, can’t we, Peter?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just you and me now, which means we could leave Neverland if we wanted to.”

“I like it here, just you and me,” Peter says, frowning. “Why on earth would we want to leave now?”

“There's a whole world outside of Neverland, you know,” Wendy says, her eyes sad. “Wouldn’t you like to see it?”

“No, Wendy.” Peter’s expression hardens. “I like it here, just you and me.”

* * *

Peter is all kinds of things, and ruthless would be at the very top of the list. He is also greedy and he knows it, and so he fears that Wendy may be too determined to escape the island—with or without him.

Peter Pan never fails. Those are four words that are embedded in the minds of everybody who has ever come to know him. So when Peter wants something, it is often very rare that he doesn't get it.

Now Peter wants Wendy, and this desire burns brighter than his thirst for youthfulness and power. Wendy _is_ his power, he realises that now, and if he is going to spend the remainder of his life growing old, he wants to spend it all with her and only her.

He pushes the brimming glass towards her, and she eyes it suspiciously. He never mentioned any cause for celebration, but he brings his glass up as a sign of cheers. Then he drinks from his glass with ease and, upon witnessing it, Wendy brings hers to her lips.

Wendy isn’t stupid. She knows about his plan to keep her in Neverland forever. She knows exactly what would happen to her once she drinks from her glass, the one he'd claimed to have filled with ordinary water. She hadn't a single doubt that Peter would do something like this. She just hadn’t expected it so soon. But then even she knows better than to challenge him, so she simply closes her eyes and silently bids her home, her London, goodbye.

“To growing up,” Wendy hails, her throat growing thick. As she drinks, the tears that gather at her eyelids flow like thin streamlets down her face.

“To growing up,” Peter agrees, and he leans in closer towards her and kisses her tears away.


End file.
